Assumed
by corneroffandom
Summary: When tragedy strikes, Alberto's life is changed forever.


To Alberto Del Rio, it's old news. The working relationship that had evolved into a close friendship, then into anger and bitterness, and finally nothingness. But he knows it's not that way for Ricardo Rodriguez, his lips quirking into an evil smirk whenever they come across each other in the halls, Ricardo's step stuttering, his eyes flickering this way and that as his former employer walks past as if he doesn't see him. Not surprisingly, the former ring announcer still seems lost in anger and fright whenever he sees him, which makes sense- The Mexican Aristocrat's influence isn't one that's easy to be forgotten. It makes him even more proud, that he could still cause such a reaction all of these months later, but not much else. The subject of Ricardo is tiresome to him, he wants nothing more than to focus on his own career, and all of the future success that is assured to him.

Interviewers need reminded of this, and various people in the business... sometimes even people in the company, and it grates at him, makes him more determined to stick to his initial reasons for leaving the ring announcer behind. It's been an excessively annoying day for such matters, almost everyone he has to deal with determined to at least speak about Ricardo, so he's sitting in a restaurant, poking at a cup of coffee dwelling on the event that's just finished, replaying every moment of his match this evening, trying to get enough caffeine circulating through his system to continue his drive on to the next city. Sometimes he brings his driver, but usually he likes to put his vehicles through their paces on his own, so he's usually alone on these tours. Just the way he likes it.

He's about to pay, throwing a few dollars onto the table, not sure if it's too much or too little for a tip- that duty was usually left to Ricardo- when he hears a couple waitresses gossiping by the kitchen. He doesn't mean to listen in, not caring about their workplace chatter, but then he hears "... exploded, with people inside. It's so sad, all of the injured... I guess they're searching for any other survivors, expect to be doing so until at least early morning."

Something stops him from leaving. He's frozen, bill and credit card held tightly in his hand as he stares at them, not understanding what about their conversation had caught his attention. "Excuse me," he says. "I didn't mean to listen in, but... there was an explosion?"

One of the waitresses turns towards him, her eyes bloodshot and weary. "Yeah," she says, nervously twirling her curly blonde hair around her finger. "That Denny's by the interstate? They say it was a gas leak."

His mouth goes dry and he's barely focused on them as he pays his bill and heads for the door, a warning hum in the back of his brain. It doesn't fully click with him until he's driving towards the street that leads to the interstate to leave town and he sees the firetrucks and ambulances, vehicles being guided by police to go through slowly. He recognizes the business, or what's left of it, as a place that he'd been a few times. _With Ricardo,_ his mind kindly reminds him. He hits the brakes and stares on in horror, ignoring the cars behind him honking, until he turns a sharp right and then slams the brakes once more, roughly shutting his car off and sitting in a parking lot, struggling to catch his breath as he stares blankly up at the smoldering

 _"I can't believe you like this place, mi amigo,"_ _he comments with fond exasperation as he follows his best friend inside, nodding in acknowledgement when Ricardo holds the door open for him. "There are so many Dennys around, why this one?"_

 _"It's the place I ate at after I wrestled for the first time outside of the SoCal area," he explains with a content grin as he follows the hostess to a table. "Now, whenever I'm in town, I make sure to come in, even if it's just for coffee." He taps his fingers against the table and watches as Alberto looks around with something close to distaste. Growing subdued, he swallows. "If you really hate it that much, we can go somewhere else, El Patron-"_

 _Alberto's eyes rest on his face, taking in his disappointment and guilt, immediately shaking his head. "No, no, mi amigo, it's fine. I've just never ate here before, but if you recommend it, that's good enough for me." So they had stayed and, yes, the food had been acceptable... not that he'd ever returned there since..._

He takes a breath, waving the memory away, as he stares at the rescue efforts in the distance, unexplainable terror gripping him. He finds his phone without really thinking about it, searching through his contact's list. He barely calls anyone, so he hadn't thought to organize it, or erase certain names, and now he's glad for it as he thumbs through various names- all people that Ricardo had entered into the device since Alberto is clueless when it comes to such things. Ricardo is towards the top of the R list, and he dials it, feeling oddly strangled as he holds the phone to his ear, tapping the fingers of his free hand against the steering wheel. Desperate to hear that click, or even have the call be cut off at ring two or three, sent to voicemail when Ricardo ends the call... but it rings through, hits his voicemail.

Growling, Del Rio ends the call, turns around and dials again, and again, and again, and again until he realizes he can't see out of the windshield anymore, his vision blurry. When he reaches up to wipe at his eyes, he realizes he's crying, knowing deep in his soul that the lack of response isn't good, means more than something simple like Ricardo had changed his number in the months since their split, or... or. He slams his fist against the dashboard and grits his teeth, pain unlike any he'd ever felt before, even after surgeries and concussions and everything else endured during his years as a wrestler, grinding against his bones, his lungs, his brain. "No, no," he breathes. "No!" Dialing once more despite his shaking fingers, he presses the phone to his ear and allows it to ring through. Four rings, then click.

"Hola, this is Ricardo Rodriguez's phone, leave a message at the beep and I will call you back at my earliest convenience. Gracias."

Click. Alberto stares at the blurry screen, wonders if that will be the last time he'll get to hear that voice, before staring back out at the flashing blue and red lights. "Lo siento," he hisses, gripping the steering wheel so hard that he can hear it tearing under his fingers. "Perhaps if I had been with you, we could've gotten out in time... Ricardo..." All thoughts of driving on to Smackdown long forgotten by now, Alberto hesitantly pulls out of the parking lot, not wanting to catch a tow truck's attention, or that of police, and drives aimlessly around, the city now looking dull, dead to his exhausted eyes.

His phone rings a few times as night turns into day, but when he sees that none are Ricardo, he ignores them until he realizes that he's been nodding off at a stoplight for the last minute, people sitting on their horns behind him. He drives forward, then turns a left to the first hotel he sees. Booking a room is a quiet, empty process and he still can't find it inside of himself to shut his eyes even when he's laying down on a bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He blankly listens to the voicemail messages, unsurprised to find that most are about the Denny's explosion, one from the WWE headquarters, confirming that Ricardo was last seen at the Denny's and if he could please call them back soon, they would appreciate it.

He rolls over and digs his fingers into the pillow, closing his eyes and finally facing the truth of their last meeting. Ricardo's fear and Alberto's smugness, all of it seeming so terrible to him as he punches his bed repeatedly and tries to withstand the urge to scream out his self-loathing and disgust, fearing that if he starts, he'd never find it in him to stop.

His phone continues to ring sporadically through the day and he's sure he's worrying Sofia, but he can do nothing but stare at the TV, which is set to some local channel, its screen fuzzy and barely there, but enough for him to focus whenever the local news comes on. Around 5 PM, some bored looking woman is explaining that they've ceased rescue efforts, as everyone who could be found has been, and he releases a broken sob as Ricardo's picture flashes on the screen, his own name thrown out in conjunction with the younger man, their careers still so interlaced that no one can tell where one ends and the other begins, even in death. Unable to fight it anymore, he buries his face in the thin pillow and cries hard, pained breaths tearing out of his lungs. "Lo siento, lo siento, I was foolish, so foolish," he keens, drifting into broken Spanish mumblings.

His sleep is restless and broken by nightmares of heat, desperate dark eyes, and Ricardo's voice sometimes just saying his name, or pleading for help... but the worst are the ones structured around memories, when he'd been standing over Ricardo, bucket in hand, loathing in his heart, before he slammed it across his spine again and again and again. "Why?" Ricardo's voice, faint but still audible over the audience's reaction, tearing through his chest and leaving him sitting up in bed gasping hard. His face is wet, his eyes are gritty, and he feels dirty, disgusting inside and out. Staggers out of bed and into the shower, turning it on as hot as it will go, his skin scalding until he can't take the silence anymore. Shuts the water off so roughly that he's surprised the handles remain in the wall before drying off haphazardly with a towel.

He chooses comfort over style this time, dressing in black sweats and a shirt that he almost doesn't recognize until it hits him. Clothes that Ricardo had given him a long time ago, after _someone_ had taken scissors to his gym clothes, leaving him with nothing to wear except for suits and his wrestling gear. He had forgotten that these were still in his luggage and it makes his heart throb with sadness anew, but he can't bring himself to take them off so he swallows down his nausea and finds his keys, making his way outside once more. This time, after some more aimless driving, his car takes him to the local hospital. It's early evening, the staff are wandering around, passing out supper to the patients and he can only imagine how insane he must look, his hair sleep-mussed, eyes red rimmed, and clothes wrinkled after months in the bottom of his bag. But it's irrelevant, he thinks.

Ricardo, when at his lowest points, would come to hospitals. Sit with the sick and dying, offering comfort where he could. Do charity, _help_ people. Alberto had never understood it, how surrounding oneself with people suffering and in need could make anyone feel better, but it somehow had. Ricardo would come back with a sad smile on his face, seeming more stable in himself and his life, and though Alberto's not sure he'll ever find stability again, he thinks perhaps he can take up the mantle in his friend's absence. Try to make life easier for at least one other person... especially considering how significantly he had failed Ricardo all of those months ago.

He releases a breath and walks up to the nurse's desk. "Hello," he greets them. "I am Alberto Del Rio. I am a WWE superstar..." Whatever the women say barely registers with him, he licks his lips and continues on. "My colleagues and I regularly visit ill and injured in hospitals..." His fingers trace circles in the ceramic tiles as he tries to figure out how best to approach this matter. "I understand it is a bit late for such things but I was wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about doing a volunteer service... Try to cheer up patients?" He falters at the confusion on the nurses' faces, realizing that he's not making much sense to them. "My... ah... My best friend, Ricardo Rodriguez, was in the explosion at Denny's this morning," he forces the words out, eyes welling with uncontrollable tears. "I feel like this is the least I can do in his honor."

His lips are pressed so tightly together, trying to keep his emotions in check, that it hurts. But understanding dawns on the women's faces finally. One of them nods and leans forward, her fingers cool on his hand as she stares at him sympathetically. "The hospital administration is out for the day, but we can leave a message for those in charge of the volunteers with your phone number so they can call you as soon as they're back in in the morning, set something up with you."

It means another horrifying, quiet night with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, but it's a start so he nods. "Gracias," he tells her sincerely, leaving the hospital in the same fog he'd entered it in.

He leaves the TV off this time, resumes ignoring his phone, and falls into another nightmare-laden sleep. When he wakes up again, the sun is rising and he gets a luke-warm cup of coffee from the front lobby, returning to his room to watch the reds and purples bleed into blue as another day without Ricardo anywhere in the world stretches out before him. He's pondering getting a second cup, perhaps from a real coffee shop, when his phone goes off. He almost ignores it but the number is unfamiliar so he answers it, breathing a little easier when the male voice on the end introduces himself as from the hospital. Alberto remembers very little of the conversation, but he's cleared to visit the patients later that morning and he smiles for the first time since hearing the news. "Thank you," he murmurs, hanging up.

Stripping out of Ricardo's clothes carefully, he lays them on the bed and takes a better shower this time, the water at a more tolerable level. Lathers up with soap and shampoo and he feels more human afterwards, breathing out against the foggy mirror as he steps out onto the tile. He wears slacks and a rich purple shirt, things he wouldn't mind needing to replace just in case things get messy at the hospital. When he arrives at the hospital, the man he'd talked to on the phone is there to greet him and they walk through the halls to the nearest elevator, most of his comments washing over Alberto as he tries to prepare himself for dealing with the sick and injured for the next few hours. He's not a caretaker, not like Ricardo or Sofia, and the mere thought of holding the hand of a stranger as they breathe their last makes him ill inside, but he shakes those thoughts away and greets each person with a smile and cordial greeting, forcing himself to focus on their words.

For the first time since talking with the waitresses at that diner, he actually _listens_ to people and _talks_ back to them. It takes him out of his head, to listen to these people, their problems. Playing with the children who are well enough to do so in the pediatric wing, reading quietly to the ones who aren't. His English is still stuttery and awful but they don't seem to mind, just glad to have someone there to take their minds off of their discomfort. He does fine until they arrive at the burn unit, something about it making him feel short of breath as they don suits to keep things as sanitary as possible. "Excuse me," he says quietly. "Is there anyone here from the Denny's explosion?"

"Yes," the man, whose name he still hasn't caught yet, says. "There are a couple. Two were minorly injured, one was a little more severe but we expect him to make a full recovery."

He leads Alberto over to where these people are, Alberto sitting down in a chair next to a woman's bed. She's awake, second degree burns up her arms and he thinks she must've been a waitress unfortunately close to the kitchen at the time of the explosion. He spends a few minutes with her, listening to her medicine-slurred attempts at speaking before she drifts off. Resting her hand back against the sheets, he stands and approaches the other man, who seems to have more burns than the woman, his neck and hands from fingers to shoulder covered, but he seems cheerful enough, smiling at Alberto when he joins him. "Hello, my name is Alberto."

"I'm Pete," he responds quietly. "I'd shake hands but you know..."

"Don't worry about it." Alberto shakes his head, laughing a little when Pete's lips quirk up in some sort of humor.

"I was the cook at Dennys," he says after a moment. "Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time, huh? But it could've been worse..." He glances over at the waitress and the other person in the shadowy corner that Alberto hasn't had a chance to look at yet. "We were lucky."

Alberto nods, a twinge of pain creeping up his chest once more as he remembers the muted news report about Ricardo. It's on the tip of his tongue, the admission that his best friend had been lost in the explosion, but changes his mind before the words even make sense in his own mind. It's too personal, it's too deserved, this pain, and he doesn't want to share it with anyone else. Not yet. He has much to atone for, and if this is one way of doing it, then he'll accept it with open arms and not let it go until he's done all he can in this hospital to ease others' suffering, until he's home and Sofia will demand he talk to her. Sounding strangled, he wishes Pete well before going over to the third bed.

Bandages cover this man's face, leaving his features indistinguishable and Alberto stares at him, glad he's asleep. The burns being in such a delicate place must be excruciating and he can't even imagine. He sighs, glad to have a moment in near silence to just sit and think, with nothing but the soothing repetition of the heart monitor keeping track of his vitals. Only a few minutes have passed, however, when a nurse wanders over, gently touching the man's hand while checking the machines scattered around his prone body. She smiles at Alberto while crossing over to the other side of the bed. "It's a bit daunting, isn't it? All of these sick and injured people... We don't get many volunteers."

He nods, not wanting to encourage the praise that he can somehow sense is coming. "What's this man's name?" he wonders, pointing towards the unconscious patient.

"We don't know," she says, carefully pulling the bedding up around the man's arms. "He hasn't regained consciousness since he was brought in here, and... it appears his wallet was lost in the fire, so we have no easy way to ID him." She smiles sadly down at him before taking her leave to check on another patient.

Alberto thinks it over before scooting his chair closer and lightly resting his hand on the burn victim's wrist, pondering what the nurse had said. Something about the unknown, this man laying in quiet repose, all of it, brings the grief to the forefront and Alberto can't keep the words inside anymore, not like he had for Pete, nor for the nurses or anyone else. He's not even sure if the man will hear him through the fog of unconsciousness but he doesn't care, curling his fingers around the cool flesh of his arm and feeling his pulse, beating in time with the heart monitor overhead. "Mi amigo took me to that Denny's once," he says, voice low and thin at first but growing in volume slowly. "I was foolish and wasn't with him tonight... He was lost in the fire. I betrayed him and he thought I hated him, wished him nothing but harm... and I suppose it was true, for awhile... but not anymore. If I could, I would take it all back. I would fix everything." His accent grows thicker and he realizes he's crying, wiping at his eyes uncomfortably. Since hearing the news, he'd cried more than he had his entire life.

Alberto's head is bowed, staring at their hands, when he hears a soft sound, like a breath, and then a third hand rests weakly over his own, squeezing lightly. He gasps and looks up, finding the man is awake, hazel eyes locked on him with some confusion and tredipation lost in their glassy depths. "Oh, you're awake. Don't worry, you're going to be just fine. I'll get a nurse." He's just stood, twisting around to find the woman, when the grip on his hand tightens. He turns back around and looks down, worried. "Wha-?"

This time, when he looks into the other man's eyes, a sharp flicker of recognition leaves him breathless, even though he'd thought that such a thing was impossible. One truth replaced with a certainty so deep that he has to sit down, peering into the other man's face. Alberto shakes his head brokenly and scoots forward, searching his eyes, the only part of him that he can really see around all of the bandages. "Ricardo...?" His only response is the heart monitor speeding up and the fingers tangled around his wrist tightening even more. He smiles incredulously, crying harder as he leans forward and rests a hand on Ricardo's chest. "Mi mejor amigo, it is you..." Ricardo looks confused, like he wants to ask so many things, but Alberto shakes his head. "Don't speak, si? Just rest, regain your strength."

But Alberto owes him an explanation, he knows, so he moves, sits on the edge of Ricardo's bed and strokes his hands, staring at the soot still staining his fingernails. "I am so sorry for everything before," he intones lowly, not good at apologizing or trying to explain himself. He had tried for a few months, when Ricardo's ankle had been broken, but it had never stuck. He just wasn't good enough a man deep down inside to be the friend that Ricardo deserved, not then. "I put my career before our friendship, and it backfired sharply." His career had cycled the drain since turning his back on Ricardo, and now this... "I don't deserve your forgiveness, I am aware. But at least allow me to help you through this... Even if it's just financially." He looks up, desperate and pained. "I will call Sofia if you like... she'll be overcome with relief to hear you're alright."

When the nurse approaches again, she looks reproachful that Alberto hadn't told her of her patient's change in condition... until Alberto meets her halfway and reveals that he knows him. That he's Ricardo Rodriguez. Her lips part in recognition and she returns to the bed, needing to confirm. Ricardo speaks finally, a weak "si" leaving his chapped lips, and Alberto's heart beats faster at the sound of his voice, strained and painful from the smoke and trauma but definitely him. She dashes off to find the doctor and change his records so everyone'll know he's not _John Doe_ anymore.

He stares at Alberto for a moment, eyes fluttering as sleep overtakes him once more. Alberto soothes him with softly murmured Spanish, watching as he slowly drifts. "El Patron," he breathes out before finally giving in and falling asleep.

Alberto smiles painfully.

Sofia out-nurses pretty much anyone so, once she arrives, all of the hospital staff eventually learns to step aside and let her do her thing when it comes to the minor details. Ricardo responds to her better than almost anyone anyway, obliging her requests that he eat and drink and sleep, despite his lack of appetite and disinterest in sleeping _more_ when it feels like that's all he's been doing for months now. When he _is_ asleep, she turns her focus to Alberto and he merely grunts when she pushes him onto a nearby cot and makes him sleep too.

He's dozed off at one point when Ricardo's voice pulls him back to reality. Sofia's bustling around the bed but she settles in next to him and holds his hand, stroking his knuckles tenderly. "Ricardo? May I ask what you remember of... that night?"

Alberto holds his breath. He had been curious too but, with Ricardo so weak and vulnerable, their friendship so new and delicate, he hadn't wanted to add to the trauma. But with his thinking that only Sofia is listening, the rest of the hospital quiet and lazy at this late hour, Ricardo finds it in himself to tell the story. "It's all kind of hazy. I was eating a quick meal before getting back on the road when it happened. The explosion was on the other side of the building, I was knocked nearly out of my seat but outside of some heat and smoke, it didn't really affect the part of the restuarant I was in. The emergency exit was down the wall across from where I was sitting so I was trying to make my way to it, but the smoke was so thick... I think I was confused, I was _sure_ Alberto was in there... so I turned around to look for him and I don't remember anything else."

Sofia stares down at Ricardo, her shoulders tense, and Alberto understands. He feels the same way. Despite all that he'd done to Ricardo, the former ring announcer had almost died just to make sure that his employer was ok, despite Alberto being a few blocks away, safe and thinking disgusting things about this pure man. He uncurls himself from the cot and ignores Sofia's tsks before kneeling down next to Ricardo, searching his eyes. "You deserve better than my horrible attempts at friendship, Ricardo... but while I do what I can to help you heal physically, will you also allow me to try to fix things between us as well?"

Ricardo stares at him for a long moment, fumbling with the sheets between his hands. Tears welling in his eyes, he slowly nods. "Of course, El Patron."

Alberto releases a breath before leaning forward and wrapping his arms carefully around him, overwhelmed with the acceptance of just how much he'd missed him the past few months- something he wouldn't allow himself to feel until this moment. "Gracias, hermano."


End file.
